Define Value
by M.L. Shards
Summary: Maybe SG1 had forgotten about him, but he hadn’t forgotten about them.


"_Ambassador, we request your presence at the next assembly-"_

"_Ambassador, there is the matter of these documents-"_

"_Ambassador, I need those numbers by the next cycle of the-"_

"_Ambassador, if there is any hope in the completion of this project it will require your full attention in the following weeks."_

Side-stepping a tall woman with dark skin and long black hair, he let out a sigh of disappointment, he wasn't a freakin' ambassador; he was the peacekeeper between political parties, government critic, scientist, and coffee boy to name a few of his many responsibilities. It was a wonder the place hadn't blown up without him.

Kicking the door to his office open he unceremoniously dropped his large stack of papers onto the already messy desk, resting his forehead against the top paper. He hadn't slept properly in years, he was ready to collapse, if it wasn't for this weird liquid his assistant attempted to pass off as something similar to Earth coffee, he would probably be asleep on his feet most of the time.

"Ambassador, can you set up a Stargate Program? Ambassador, can you stop the world from being attacked from Goa'uld or these new guys we barely know anything about, the Ori? Ambassador, can you save us from an invasion? Ambassador, the representative from what was once the Andari Federation stole my nice coffee mug, can you get it back? Honestly people, I am only one man!" He growled angrily, lifting his head up as there was a sharp knock on his door. "What?" He sighed defeated.

The door was pushed open by a young man with slightly spiky blond hair carrying two large binders. "Uh, these just came in from Vin Eremal, they're the plans to the excavation few miles from the-"

"Just set them down over there."

The blond nodded. "Hey, boss, are you all right?"

"Link… I would be if there were four more of me to get this stuff done… I'm supposed to be an Ambassador, not a…" he struggled to find the proper word, but couldn't find one to vent his frustrations. The best he came up with was… "Babysitter."

Link nodded. "Well, maybe you should take a vacation?"

"I can't." He sighed sadly. "This stuff won't get done without me around… I wonder what will happen when I retire… can I even retire?"

Link looked sympathetically at his boss. "Well, I'll try to field a few of the Stargate Program forms to Officer Sparrow if that'll help…"

He nodded. "Yeah… um… look, I'm just going to go get some of…" He could feel his brain shutting down his motor functions. "Uh, coffees… get started on this, okay?"

Link nodded frantically as he placed the binders down and began attempting to start looking through the stack of papers on the desk. Considering how much of a neat freak his boss was, it was depressing to see the office in such a state of disarray. He would do what he could to help, but since so many people wanted the Ambassador's attention, it was unlikely he could do much.

Ambassador…

A few years ago he could only dream of being an Ambassador, but now… now he could barely walk properly with the amount of work he needed to get done…

It wasn't fun work either, not like learning languages or deciphering texts, or saving the planet or civilizations or traveling… it was just boring, and tiring, and stressful. His family constantly bragged about his governmental position and the amount of responsibility resting on his shoulders, the same responsibility that hadn't allowed him to visit his friends or attend family get-togethers or just live life. He was too busy doing all the work that no one else would do but wanted the results from. He wasn't sure why he didn't just quit…

Oh right, he'd been considered a traitor before and was currently considered lucky amongst most of his "co-workers" as being allowed on the planet. He liked being respected, but it was starting to look like he was taking on too much stuff.

His government had put him in charge of putting together a Stargate Program, resembling that of Earth's. Construction, location, politics and disagreements with the military Officer Sparrow resulted in the project being horribly delayed, but the desire for results increasing. That, combined with other, regular on-world politics and arguments, gave him a constant headache.

Turning the corner into what could be considered a "break room"; he took a small, white plastic cup and filled it with the suspicious coffee-like liquid before turning back to his office.

He missed being involved in more than the planning process of a Stargate Program…

He'd been promised a spot on the flagship team once the program was actually established, but it seemed like that time just wasn't coming anytime soon.

He paused outside his office, taking a sip of the liquid and wincing. It was what he imagined turpentine tasting like, but it kept him awake.

There were days he imagined heading back to Earth, claiming boredom and desperately pleading with General Hammond to give him his old job back. He realized quite awhile ago that that wasn't an option. First of all, there was no General Hammond anymore, it was someone named Landry. He knew this since he'd attempted to send a message to Sam, and Landry hadn't allowed him to talk to her, claiming he wasn't on some sort of communications list that was required to access a direct member of SG-1. Some sort of new regulation put into place that Jonas didn't really believe and had a feeling Landry just didn't believe his story of being a former SG-1 member.

If he couldn't even talk to them, it was unlikely he'd be able to regain a spot on the team.

Maybe SG-1 had forgotten about him, but he hadn't forgotten about them. He wanted to be angry with them, but found it was hard to argue with the logic he knew they were using to rationalize the lack of communication and connection with their former teammate.

Dr. Jackson had come back and then Jonas Quinn had lost whatever little value he'd had to them.

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